


Met by Moonlight

by Umeko



Series: Dysfunctional [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bad Decisions, Dark fic, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 05:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing his wife on the Grinding Ice, Turgon seeks solace in all the wrong places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Met by Moonlight

He was the High King now with his remaining brother’s death, on top of ruling his fair city of Gondolin. Yet he had no desire leave the safety of his hidden city. If Elenwe had lived, what would she say of his decision? He could remember how her hair glittered like gold by Laurelin’s light. The same gold shone in their daughter’s hair but Idril had inherited the Finwian grey of his eyes instead of her amil’s blue. She had been so beautiful and brave during the arduous trek along the coast of Araman. They had shared many hours in the dark in their tent with their child between them to keep her warm. Idril had been so young then. Many times he had questioned if he had made a mistake in allowing his wife and daughter to join his father’s host. A part of him had died when Elenwe was lost beneath the ice, perhaps the best part of him.

He would have faded too like so many others if it were not for his daughter. Itarille had needed her father then more than ever. Turgon paused at a window overlooking the city.

Moonlight washed over the sleeping city, painting the buildings silvery white. The city reminded him of Tirion in which image Gondolin was built so many yeni past. He had trod this path through the King’s Tower many times alone without purpose until recently. The folk of Gondolin looked up to him. They hailed him as a godly paradigm of proper Noldor morals and trusted him to keep them safe. Even noble Finrod had stumbled through his dealings with the Second-born. Turgon knew better. He was a fraud, a sinner – if his people knew, they would likely cast him off the walls of his own city.

The taste of his failures bit deep. They were many. He had failed his wife, his father, his brothers and, most of all, his sister. He now stood before his bedchamber. Not even Idril was allowed in this part of the tower now. It was his private sanctum. Apart from his valet tasked with its cleanliness and him, only one other held the key to it. 

The elf he had approached in secret after the morning council ended would be waiting beyond. Turgon unlocked the door with a sigh and locked it behind him after entering. He was not disappointed. The black-haired elf sat nude on the silken sheets save for a blindfold of black silk. Moonlight imparted a luscious glow to that pale expanse of exposed skin. Turgon undid the fastenings of his collar. He did not wish to ask the elf to assist in his undressing.

On the Ice, he had huddled with his kin in their shared misery. Fingon, Argon and Aredhel had taken their turns lending the heat of their bodies to warm his child. Even Finrod had joined them under the furs to soothe young Idril. Perhaps it was then that the first seed was planted. Instead of waking to Elenwe’s golden hair, it was Aredhel’s raven tresses that greeted his sight when he awoke. He soon became conscious of how full his little sister’s bosom was pressed so close against him, or how she smelled like the forest in spring, clean and pure. It was sinful. He would put it down to his grief at losing his wife.

The feelings persisted when they dwelled on the shores of Mithrim, and later in Nevrast. He would try to treat her as his sister but something had changed between them. Perhaps Aredhel sensed it too. She shunned the fatherly kisses and hugs he once showered on her when she was younger and had accepted grudgingly on the Ice. Comfort was sought in whatever ways they could in those dark days on the Ice. They said Argon had taken to snuggling up to their father and Fingon had played his harp until the strings froze and snapped. To cope with the yearning in his fea, he went on a journey with his cousin Finrod. He recalled nights spent sharing a bedroll with Finrod as they explored each other’s body intimately. It was only a fling which ended all too soon. Finrod was not Elenwe or Irisse.

He should have declined to take Aredhel along when their father asked him to. Aredhel had not been entirely willing to make the move to Gondolin. Perhaps she came along with him for Idril’s sake. So many of the nissi had died on the Ice that Idril lacked proper female guardians.  She was a restless one, his beloved sister. They said she was almost as wild as her one-time hunting companion Celegorm. He had been loath to let her out of his sight in the city. Aredhel was a princess and a beauty in her own right. Many of the lords came courting. To his relief, she did not accept any of their suits.

It had been too long that he was bereaved of intimate company. His dreams of Elenwe returned once they had settled into the new city, as he had dreamed of her in the time after her death. However, now she would change into his sister as they joined carnally as husband and wife, leaving Turgon to awake startled in a cold sweat. Instead of golden hair and blue eyes, his dreams were soon full of dark hair and grey eyes. 

Returning to the present, Turgon climbed onto the bed and embraced the waiting elf, burying his face in raven tresses which smelled faintly of sandalwood and orange. He groped the round buttocks pressed flush against his growing need eagerly.

“Suck me first.” With a contented sigh, Turgon guided his partner’s head down to his groin and skilled lips eagerly engulfed his shaft to the hilt. Turgon dug his fingers into those silken tresses, dark as night.

It had been a mistake on his part. They had both drunk heavily of Duilin’s wine – that House brewed the strongest liquors in all Gondolin. It had happened after the feast when most of the guests were drunk to varying degrees. Laughing, Aredhel had kissed him on the cheek playfully and dared him to chase her. He had accepted the challenge and they had found themselves in a quiet alcove. What happened was a haze. He recalled her moaning as he hiked up her skirts and fucked her with her back against the wall. He was not scandalized to find she was no virgin. There had been rumours back in Aman about her and Celegorm. When it was over and the alcohol lifted off them, they had stared at each other in both shock and shame.

Aredhel had fled with his seed still leaking from between her legs. Turgon was sure he was doomed then to the rebukes and censure of his people. Yet his sister had not spoken out against him. Having broken one of the strongest taboos, Turgon wondered if Aredhel would return to him as a sister or as his mistress. She had been lusty enough in their joining. His sister had other plans. She sought his permission to leave Gondolin for the fair walls of the city had now closed on her like a gilded cage. She desired to seek out her kin beyond the walls and explore the wide lands. He would only allow her to visit their brother Fingon and only with an escort, much to her annoyance.

They partook heavily of wine the night before her departure. Their private dinner ended with their cussing each other. He fucked her bent over the table with her bare breasts squashed into dessert. She had called him a spineless eunuch while he railed at her for being a whore. He had licked the cream off her breasts afterwards as she laughed like a wild thing with her legs splayed wide to reveal her dripping cunt. If his valet heard anything outside the parlour, he never spoke of it. Glorfindel and his colleagues never guessed the proud princess they were to escort was such a harlot to their king.

Aredhel vanished from his waking life soon afterwards, haunting his dreams in place of his rightful wife. When she finally returned to him briefly, too much had changed. She was more subdued and she had a son by another ellon. For a moment Turgon wondered if the boy had been conceived in Gondolin that night. He had his mother’s handsome features and slender built, but his eyes were sharp and Avari-black instead of her grey. In other ways, Maeglin was Aredhel’s son. He lacked the strict upbringing of the Noldor and was so eager to serve his king however he could, even if it means warming his uncle’s bed on lonely nights. The Avari were less particular when it came to sex. Yet Turgon could not bear any rebuke, real or imagined, in those black eyes as he quenched his lust on that lithe body. Maeglin did not mind the blindfold as his king used his ass and mouth. He never revealed his secret to his fellow lords. _Who would believe him even if he did?_

“Irisse…” Turgon breathed as his nephew obligingly sat down in his lap, sheathing his cock completely in a warm, oiled passage. It was a tight fit and Maeglin’s inner walls clenched about his cock as much as his mother’s had clenched about it. Maeglin gasped in discomfort. His uncle was large in girth and it ached despite his careful preparations before coming to the king’s bed. Turgon waited for his nephew to adjust before pinching his ass cheek.

“Move now, you slut…”

With a smile much like his mother’s, the young prince rode his king’s cock as he had done on so many moonlit nights since he arrived in his mother’s city.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a twisted re-imagining of life in Gondolin and the relationship between Turgon, Aredhel and Maeglin.


End file.
